Fixation
by LadyDivine91
Summary: Crowley seems to love taking Aziraphale out to eat. After 6000 years, Aziraphale finally figures out why. Aziraphale x Crowley


Dozens of slices of cake.

An ice lolly or two.

Countless crepes. Just … he doesn't even pretend to count. A number doesn't exist.

Sushi, grapes, strawberries, chocolate - a plethora of finger foods.

And after all this time, all the lunches and dinners and mid-day snacks and alcohol binging sessions, Aziraphale mentally slaps himself for never noticing.

Maybe that's because he's guilty of it, too - spending too much of their time together gazing longingly at Crowley to the deficit of their conversation. Too many times has he had to nod hard and say, "Quite right, quite right," when he honestly had no idea what Crowley had been talking about minutes before.

But Aziraphale knows that Crowley has done it, too.

Crowley's obsession with watching him eat should have been obvious from the start. He's not what one would call a particularly subtle demon. But for a being who eats very little (which isn't odd because most demons and angels do), he definitely invites Aziraphale out to eat a _lot_. He orders half as much food as Aziraphale does, but in the end, it's the angel who eats the bulk of it. Crowley just sits, draped over his chair the way he does with every piece of furniture he rests upon, and watches.

Particularly, he watches Aziraphale's mouth.

Once Aziraphale figured it out, he definitely took advantage. Tea, biscuits, lollipops, even pencil erasers – anything he could get his teeth around, he did.

And he kept them on hand constantly in case he needed to nibble.

They were particularly handy in the quick and efficient ending of arguments.

And not surprisingly, Crowley's invites to lunch nearly doubled in frequency.

"Crowley, my dear," Aziraphale says, picking up a new, clean fork to attack his second slice of cake – the slice Crowley ordered, claiming it was the 'Cadillac of cakes', then promptly slid across the table to Aziraphale, "you've barely touched a morsel."

"Oh …" Crowley straightens in his seat, yanked back into the present by the sound of his name. "Sorry. I'm just not much in the mood today. But please, by all means …" He gestures to the plates, offering Aziraphale anything he'd like. "Have at it."

"I just may," Aziraphale says, tucking back into his plate of cake. It's not just any cake. Crowley chose this restaurant for his angel special for this piece of cake alone.

It's a ninety-dollar slice, and from the look on Aziraphale's face, it's worth every penny.

The fact that this restaurant, which specializes solely in super rich desserts garnished in everything from white truffles to gold leaf, is called _Saints and Sinners,_ happens to be the cherry on top.

From behind his dark glasses, Crowley's gaze locks onto Aziraphale's mouth and stays there, watching as he chews. Aziraphale fascinates Crowley, and he happens to adore his angel's mouth. Aziraphale takes such precise, delicate bites, and enjoys each one to the utmost – not a single, solitary moment of the experience going to waste.

It reminds Crowley of what true joy, true contentment looks like.

Aziraphale takes another bite, this time of the thrice churned buttercream frosting drizzled in fresh strawberry puree, and chews, eyelids fluttering shut with the ecstasy of it.

"Mmm," he moans as he swallows. "That's heavenly. Simply heavenly."

_'I bet it is,'_ Crowley thinks, licking his lips.

Aziraphale catches him the second he opens his eyes.

"Dear …" He grins to himself. Sometimes he questions the effect he has on his demon. Finally noticing fills him with head to toe butterflies, a sensation of giddy warmth … and a hint of _power_ "… if you want a bite, just help yourself."

"I … I don't want a bite." Crowley readjusts himself on the barely comfortable black iron bistro chair. "But, maybe, I can have a taste?"

"But of course!" Aziraphale cuts off a smaller than normal bite of cake and holds it out for Crowley to take.

Crowley slides his chair closer. He leans in towards the fork …

… then passes the fork by and kisses his angel's mouth. It's a short kiss. In the eyes of the mortal world, it probably barely qualifies. Time may have even stopped when it happened. The sound of conversation and the click-clacking of silverware on plates ends for the moment. But it's long enough to make Aziraphale's cheeks burn, and for Crowley to steal a taste of that sweet flavor that lingers ever present beyond the seam of the angel's lips.

It has nothing to do with the cake he's been eating. It's all Aziraphale.

And it's _heavenly_.

For some reason Crowley can't comprehend, angels taste like cotton candy.

Well, Aziraphale does. He can't speak on the flavor of other angels.

If he had to guess, he'd say Gabriel probably tastes like black licorice, a thought that almost makes him break their kiss so he can laugh.

Crowley backs slowly away, eyes fixated on Aziraphale's lips as though he may kiss him again. But for the sake of the world around them, he decides against it, and those noises that accompany the every day goings on of life begin again.

Aziraphale smiles down at the rich, expensive cake on the plate in front of him, too bashful yet to meet his husband's unashamed eyes.

"Were you ever going to tell me?" the angel whispers.

"I had all the faith in the world you'd figure it out."

"And I guess I did. It only took me what? Six thousand years? Give or take a day?"

"Meh …" Crowley takes Aziraphale's fork and helps himself to a bite, hoping he can entice his angel to kiss him back. "Another thousand and I would have started dropping better hints."


End file.
